


When I Waked, I Cried to Dream Again

by ModernAgeSomniari



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Language, Sexual Imagery, Spoilers, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25183045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernAgeSomniari/pseuds/ModernAgeSomniari
Summary: An unexpected guest at an Evanuris salon catches the Dread Wolf off-guard.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Kudos: 18





	When I Waked, I Cried to Dream Again

Solas wondered how many people here wanted him dead.

Probably fewer than he’d like - the upper echelons of society still thought him a joke, an idle amusement that was fun as long as it was happening to someone else. It was an old annoyance and he brushed it aside - when he returned Tarasyl’an and saw the hope and determination reflected in the faces of those who now lived there, he knew that what he did mattered. What these flitting butterflies thought of him did not.

That said, the fact that the black and gold of his clothes marked him more of a scandal than a threat here? Well, he would be lying to himself if he said it didn’t satisfy him. A wry smile to one lady, a low-lidded sideways glance to a young ward and he could admit the warmth of their appreciative gazes on his back made him preen, just a little.

He took a crystalline goblet from the tray of one of the slaves around him, made sure to smile and voice his thanks. As was frequent at such places, the woman pretended to take no notice. It wasn’t worth her hide to show any kind of interest in him.

He took up his place leaning back against the cold stone of the wall, the moonlight pooling on the marble at his feet from outside the window beside him. Beautiful and pure, he always found it melancholy to see it struggling to find its way into this glittering hall, where jewels sparkled with no light to set them, stars twinkled in the festooned darkness of the ceiling and everywhere was the glow of the wisps, bobbing gently around the perimeter. What possible chance did the mundane moonlight have against such a throng? Why could his people not see its beauty as it was meant?

The sweet wine burst ice cold against his tongue and he let his eyelids flutter closed at the pleasure of the sensation. It wasn’t often he allowed himself these luxuries any more, not if those he served couldn’t have them as well.

As he drank, a starlight owl swooped low to clip the top of his thick hair as it passed. He did not flinch from it, but conceded to glare at it as it glided around the top of the room, passing others in various colours and constellations. Falon’Din had not yet deigned to show himself into this particular room and Solas was not about to weep over it. The man was a boorish, unsubtle, cruel master to his slaves and he didn’t treat anyone else much better. That he sent his owls out to boast of his power and bully any guest he disapproved of said much about his pettiness. Solas could not abide pettiness.

“Well, look who decided to grace this hall with his presence?”

He inclined his head slightly at the arrival of his visitor, not feeling the need to speak particularly. He couldn’t quite bring to mind the man’s name. He knew he was a scholar of some kind, a powerful one, but couldn’t place his face. In this light he could barely tell the colour of his eyes. Strange, because from the distaste pooling like a bad smell in his mouth clearly he didn’t like him very much. “Too proud to speak to me, eh Wolf? Such a fucking self-righteous prick you are.”

Well, rare enough that anyone would be so open with him, rarer still that they’d shed their shallow mask this quickly.

“Ever eloquent, good sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You could just tell me to fuck off in plain words, Mongrel. Your tone says as much.”

Cruel hands tugged at the twisted hair hanging to Solas’ waist and he jerked his head away, letting his lip curl. Fade but he hated a bully and this man was flouting protocol in a way that set warning bells off in every fingertip of Solas’ hands. Why was no one pointing and whispering yet? They generally enjoyed that. However, regardless the strange apathy of the crowd, Solas was not about to make a spectacle of himself.

“I find it curious that you’ve sought me out, I’ll admit.”

The man laughed, harsh and drunk in his ear, letting his weight fall over Solas’ shoulders, hand catching at the back of his neck.

“Because I know you’ll let me put hands all over you and call it strength that you don’t strike me for it. Save we both know it’s cowardice. I’d spread your teeth over the damn marble.”

This, Solas knew, was highly unlikely given his own recent development of his talents. It was only the fact that he himself knew this and whoever this jumped-up Lord was didn’t that kept him from proving it. He clenched his jaw instead and knocked back the rest of the wine, setting the glass delicately down on the windowsill as he heard a low whistle and appreciative cuss from beside him.

Idly wondering what manner of attraction his acquaintance had just spotted Solas turned, nimbly stepping away from the man at the same time now he was apparently distracted.

But oh, what he had been distracted by.

She was small and wearing a black, figure-hugging gown that pooled at her feet like water. The fashion this season was for whites, but her bare shoulders glowed in the Fade-light above the deep, heavy material like the sun out of a sky heavy with storm. Bright green eyes the colour of spring leaves after rain were large in her face and looking directly at him. 

He looked back. Let the moment hang, content to wait for her next move and trying to pretend his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest. The man was speaking to him, he was vaguely aware of that, but given that it sounded like he was listening through water he couldn’t bring himself to care. As he watched, the curve of her mouth twitched upwards and she began to glide towards him, utterly silent as the hem of her gown let only the tiniest glimpses of her bare feet peek from under it as she walked.

When she was in front of him, all he could smell was grass and sunshine. He couldn’t even bring himself to sneer at how silly that sounded.

“Well, I’m glad he’s gone.”

Her voice was deeper than he thought it would be and she was suddenly closer, a small strong hand slipping into his own like it belonged there, that twitch of a smile on her face again. “Come, dance with me.”

So he did.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She was glorious, this Ellana. Lithe and strong under his hands as they danced, she made his belly curl in culture-learned scandal as she pressed her body up against his in front of the whole hall, threw her head back and laughed as he spun her, her hair glittering in the lights so it mesmerised him despite himself. When they were certain they had shocked the entire gathered assembly he took her hand again, glasses of cold sweet wine in the hands that weren’t tight together. He led her outside the open windows to where the light grew colder and more solemn, watched in helpless wonder as her voice trailed off, face open and smiling as she took in the beauty of the moon. Just as he had.

He watched that moonlight play off the contours of her cheeks, her nose, her lips. Led her to the balustrade around the balcony and sat beside her, letting their fingers fall idle and tangled between them. They spoke of the party and the people there, although he forgot completely to ask where she was from or who she had come with. Then they were speaking of magical theory, of spirits and wisps and their mutual frustration with narrow-minded academia. She was fearsome in her knowledge, her ideas embryonic but unfettered by the usual restraints of scholastic tradition. He adored her. Immediately and without reservation. This should frighten him, terrify him. Solas and romance had not been friends for a very, very long time. And yet it didn’t scare him, couldn’t in the face of her presence.

He looked up to see her smiling at him gently, a hint of mischief in the corner of her mouth as she raised her glass, once again full, to chink against his own. The sound seemed to echo, merging into her smooth giggle.

“You are staring into space, my Wolf. I think perhaps you are a little drunk.”

He let himself smile back, unreserved and bafflingly happy.

“Perhaps, but it is you who has sweet wine upon your lips.”

He raised his hand to her mouth, the droplet of wine at the corner still shockingly cold against his skin. She was looking at him differently now, quiet and waiting. Not like some prey, helpless and passive, but as a wolf of her own, content to hold on to herself until he unleashed her. And, Fade help him, but he had suddenly never wanted anything so badly in his life.

When he kissed her, the taste of the sweet wine mingled with the taste of her mouth. He wanted so much and so quickly. In his mind they were alone in his bed in Tarasyl’an, taking hours and days over giving and taking pleasure from each other until they were laughing and spent. Or they were here, grasping at each other, ripping and pushing fabric aside to take each other on the marble in front of the faceless throng. He took her to the woods and laid her down on the moss, tender and worshipful, or let her push his bare back into the rough bark of the trees to take him like she’d owned him his whole life. His mouth was on her lips, her breasts, the skin on the inside of her wrists, her cunt, the arch of her foot and he was drowning in her. Surely, he must be drowning. Some low, dull ache of alarm was echoing uselessly in his stomach at how little he cared about this sudden obsession - somehow it all made sense.

When she laughed against his lips it went straight to his cock by way of his heart. He was lost, somehow. Utterly lost.

“Solas.”

When had he told her his name? Had he told her his name? He didn’t want to think, so he kissed her again.

“Solas.”

He grew desperate now, the sounds of the palace and his people deafening in his ears like they’d take her from him. His fingers gripped at her waist, was he hurting her? He must be hurting her!

“Solas!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

His eyes flew open from being clenched shut and, for a moment, he was profoundly confused. Her face was in front of him but she wasn’t laughing. And it wasn’t night, he could see sunlight dappling through the trees of the forest they’d camped in.

His stomach dropped and he knew he’d made a sound by the distress he saw flashing across her face before he buried his own in his hands. Fool. What an utter fool he was. He could still feel the wine on his tongue, only of course now it had the ashen, shadowy taste of a mouth kept closed through sleep. He felt cool fingers touching his own and gripped his forehead to stop her from taking his hands away from his face. He could not look at her now, not now. He couldn’t hide the grief from his expression. Fool, to forget how convincing dreams could be.

He should have known this wasn’t going to stop her. The hands left his fingers only to slide down his arms and around his shoulders, her body pressed so close he could let his face fall into her chest. Her arms were small and strong, he could smell the leather of the belt around her robe, the slight tang of sweat from silk worn for a day too long, sweet freshness of her hair. The Fade was never good at mimicking smell, it was only ever like a shadow. He could hear the mumblings of their companions somewhere else, but in the dark, warm place within her arms and his own grief-stricken hands he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“It’s all right, Solas. Whatever it is, it’s all right.”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t. Her hand came to smooth along the back of his scalp, dragging one last breath of grief from him before he relaxed into her embrace, content that he could contain himself for just a little longer. It wasn’t all right, but just for now he selfishly, selfishly decided to pretend it was enough. She hummed low in a smile when he snuck his arms around her waist and he hated himself for it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was technically written with my Eli Lavellan in mind, who I've also written about here, but I hope it can also be read with anyone's Lavellan really (minus the one mention of her name I guess).
> 
> Title from William Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’, Caliban.


End file.
